Dying
by Phoenix Belfalas
Summary: ‘Ere I set eyes upon you, I had never seen such sunlit beauty before. Oh, yes, there was my sister – the most beautiful maiden in all of Middle Earth. But she could not, and cannot, compare to you, lirimaer.’ Warning - slash, angst.


Summary - 'Ere I set eyes upon you; I had never seen such sunlit  
  
beauty before. Oh, yes, there was my sister - the most beautiful  
  
maiden in all of Middle Earth, the Evenstar of our people. But she  
  
could not, and cannot, compare to you, lirimaer.'  
  
Authoress' Note - All Elvish used is Sindarin Elvish, as is to my  
knowledge. If anything is used incorrectly, please leave a review  
specifying which part, and I shall try as soon as possible to correct  
it. Thank you!  
  
Rating - G  
  
Warning - Slash. Don't like - don't read. Quite angsty.  
  
Disclaimer - I own nothing, except for this plot. Everything else  
belongs to the wonderful J.R.R. Tolkien.  
  
Feedback - Of course, as for every writer, questions, thoughts, and  
constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated. Thank you, and  
enjoy.  
  
Oh, my fair cousin, how I wish to look upon your face again.  
  
You spoke words lilting and ethereal. Meleth-amin, melamin, coramin, melethron, you would whisper.  
  
But not to me, lau, no, never to me.  
  
You spoke to that arrogant Marchwarden of Lórien. Haldir was his name, all silver hair and azure eyes and a strong frame.  
  
I would whisper back words of equal fervour and love and passion, but to an invisible being. In my mind, we would lie together under the light of the stars, your hair fair as the sun, mine dark as the night.  
  
Lle luhta amin.  
  
You have enchanted me.  
  
Ere I set eyes upon you; I had never seen such sunlit beauty before. Oh, yes, there was my sister - the most beautiful maiden in all of Middle Earth, the Evenstar of our people. But she could not, and cannot, compare to you, lirimaer.  
  
  
  
We were almost complete opposites - I was dark, whereas you were light. You were born the youngest in a line of Silvan; I was born the twin in a line of Noldor. I lived for my books and music and knowledge; you fought with bow and arrow and dagger. You were proud and full of life; I was shy and quiet.  
  
You were the fairest of all the woodland elves in Middle Earth, and could have any you chose to have. You chose that proud, haughty Galadhrim.  
  
You have made a grievous error, el-amin.  
  
  
  
My father was a peredhil, as am I. Because I am a peredhil, and in my veins run both the blood of mortals and of the Elven, I must make a choice.  
  
  
  
The choice of mortality, or immortality.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir - the spitting images of each other, the prides of Rivendell, the sons of Elrond and Celebrían, the Princes of Imaldris.  
  
One would bear the pain of transience, and one the curse of eternity.  
  
I forsook my Elven heritage and chose a mortal life, for the sake of my brother.  
  
I choose a mortal life. I echo my sister's fated words. I walk that road for the same reasons as her. I relinquish the gift of the elves.  
  
Love. Mel. Tis such a beautiful, sweet, honeyed venom.  
  
Amin mela lle, melamin.  
  
I love you.  
  
Adar watched two of his three children take a mortal life, and he wept for days. Elladan tried to console him. But Arwen and I watched on with guilty, sad eyes, knowing that one day, we would weep like that too.  
  
I still weep for you. I weep privately, but smile at you, and walk in the gardens and write my poems like I have always done.  
  
You smile and clap me on the shoulder and run off to fight with Aragorn.  
  
But inside, we are both dying.  
  
  
  
I walked the path of mortality, for you and for Elladan. Elladan was always the oldest, but he was always the most naïve and hot- tempered. He did not see enough of the world and would not be content in peacefulness of Valinor.  
  
So I took his place.  
  
And I walk the path of mortality for him, and leave you.  
  
I leave you to your pining away for that smirking Guardian of Lórien who will never have you.  
  
  
  
I am left to die.  
  
I was your closet companion, your best friend, your sworn brother.  
  
One night, an autumn eve, I asked you, Lle malia ho? I had to know, I had to know. Do you care for him?  
  
Both of us knew whom I was talking about.  
  
You smiled radiantly at me and hugged me close, letting me bask in your joy.  
  
Amin mela Haldir, you told me, eyes full of happiness. I love Haldir.  
  
  
  
The years pass, and I grow old. Arwen pines away for Aragorn, fading day by day. I can see the pain in her eyes, once bright with the eternity of our people.  
  
Now it is gone, replaced by grief, sorrow, and anguish.  
  
She was our Evenstar, and is now dimming, dying, like a tree that has not seen sunlight or water or love for ages.  
  
You take Arwen to the Golden Wood, and let her pass there.  
  
The next day, you take with you Gimli Elf-friend, and sail your ship to Valinor.  
  
I have lived hundreds of years, and am nearing my end. I am exceedingly old for a mortal - more than three thousand - but terribly young for an elf.  
  
Death is soon upon me, coramin.  
  
I look into a mirror, and what do I see?  
  
I see a pair of eyes - grey and blank with age. They used to be sparkling and full of knowledge, happy and content with knowledge and music.  
  
I see a mane of long, faded grey hair entwined with strands of white and silver. It used to be a shiny, silken chestnut, shining under the sunlight beautifully.  
  
I see a face that is marred with wrinkles and age and sorrow. It used to be fair, or so I was told, with intelligence and youth and life.  
  
I see Elrohir, son of Elrond, a dying, heartbroken elf-gone- mortal.  
  
Mankoi lle ele?  
  
What do you see, Legolas of Mirkwood?  
  
Authoress' Note: This is somewhat of the companion to Fading. I know, it's a bit angsty as well, but oh well. Please review!  
  
Hantalë, ar tenna enomentiëlva, namárië.  
  
Thank you, and until we meet again, farewell 


End file.
